Welcome to my self-indulgent location for the stories (good and bad) that I can't prevent myself from writing. All comments and criticisms welcome. I post on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Anti-Valentines Day Blogfest

Today's post is sponsored by Beth Fred.

The Anti-Valentine's Day Blogfest
Feb. 15 Post your worst Valentines Day or worst date story–don’t have one? Lucky you! Not only have you never wasted precious hours of your life but you get a chance to write fiction. Make one up!!!

Okay, I'll leave it up to you to decide whether or not this is true.

When I was in HS, I got set up on a date. It's a little unfortunate, since I can't remember his name, but let's call him Kurt. Kurt and I talked on the phone a couple of times planning the evening. We decided to meet at the mall on the south side of the city—a mall 35 minutes from my house. We would meet outside of the food court, and then leave from there to go to dinner. Kurt wanted to go to this great place for dinner that I'd never heard of, an Italian place with tasty breadsticks. Then we'd go see a movie. Seems like a pretty reasonable date, no?

So, we meet at the mall. First impression: lack of understanding of a washing machine. Holey, threadbare flannel shirt over a stained white T-shirt and wrinkled jeans. And I'm not positive he had showered recently, but I might be projecting that in my memory. Not particularly someone who cares about their first impression, though, that's for sure.

We agreed to leave one car at the mall and take the other one to dinner and then to the movie, and he insisted—being the man (this is important, I promise)—that he should drive. That was fine by me, because it was cold and beginning to snow, and my old 1967 Dodge Dart didn't have the most functional heating system. So we went to his car. It was a mess inside, with old, empty fast food cups, papers, blankets, and general dirty crap. He had to spend a moment cleaning off the passenger seat before I could get inside... after he had suggested that he drive.

Notice, we haven't even gotten to the real date yet.

So he takes me to the amazing Italian restaurant with fantastic breaksticks: *drumroll* Fazoli's. It was new to the area, and I had never heard of it before. I had been expecting table clothes and candles and nice food, not a counter where you order and then sitting while they appease you with breadsticks until the food comes. This, to me, is not a date spot. Sorry, but it's NOT. And while we're waiting in line to order he says to me, "Oh, and we're going Dutch, right?" My thought, "Wait, you want to be the man and drive your shitty car, but you don't want to be the man and pay for my cheap meal at this fast food place that's a perfect date spot?"

And I already knew this couldn't go well. Duh!

While we ate, it started snowing rather heavily. I suggested that maybe we skip the movie (no, I swear, I had NO ulterior motives), but he insisted that it wasn't that bad. Even as he drove at 20 MPH from the restaurant to the movie theater, he insisted we see the movie. But then we had a good 40 minutes at the theater to wait until we could ENTER the movie theater, and what did I do? Watch the blizzard roll in. I told him in no uncertain terms that I needed to go since I lived so far away and I needed a while to get home on the freeway, and he refused because we'd already paid for the tickets. I offered to pay for his, and he turned me down. So we watched the movie—luckily I don't remember what it was, but I do sincerely remember hating it, something along the lines of Scream 7052 or so.

How many ways can I use this picture??

Then he drove me back to the mall and seemed surprised when I dashed through the snow to my car without a kiss goodnight. Did I mention he was kinda gross? Even if he'd been the nicest, most cavalier gentleman EVER—which he wasn't, Mr. "Wait Until The Last Minute To Suggest Going Dutch"—I still wouldn't have kissed him because he was GROSS.

It took well over an hour to get home through the snow, more than twice the time it took me to get there. I got home, got in bed, started to pass out from sheer exhaustion from the crazy lack of sense of my evening, and the phone RANG! He called—even though I had told him he could never call after 9:30 because my mother went to bed early, and it was sometime between 1:30AM and 2—to be sure I got home okay. Then he decided to rehash all the positive parts of the date.

Okay, I'll give him this: he seemed concerned. But I was so tired and so annoyed and so at the end of my fuse, I hung up on him. And then I got in trouble the next day because the phone had rung so late. And then I screened all of my phone calls for months and avoided his number.

So that's the worst date of my whole life. I don't have much else that even compares, but I'll have to save it for the next anti-valentine's day :)

Any bad date stories out there that you'd like to share?


Jules said...

Now that was a cheap bad date. But hey, Fazoli's is my nephews favorite restaurant guess I'd better start educating him as to how this is not a date place :)
Jules @ Trying To Get Over The Rainbow

Carol Riggs said...

Haha, that does sound really bad (sorry for laughing). The things we girls put up with, eh? ;o)

Beth said...

You know until you got the blizzard rolling in I thought I had a similar first (and last) date experience. But I think this wins. Super thanks for participating.

Sallee said...

I just found out you had a blog this very minute. This is a good day.

RosieC said...

@Beth, I didn't want to win! But it was pretty terrible.

@Sallee, Yea!! I'm glad you found me. I love your blog :)

Pk Hrezo said...

LOL! That is soooo funny! How pathetic. But it certainly makes for a good laugh now, eh?

Thanks for sharing! :)

Stephanie said...

Wow...that's bad!!!! But these moments sure make for fab stories to tell!

Anonymous said...

Worst date I ever had- ok here it goes:

My father is a control freak - think along the lines of a printed agenda and the understanding that he can and will show up anywhere I say I might be just to check on me.

My boyfriend and I decide to ditch the agena and find somewhere to park instead. He drove behind the Kanes (because I'm classy like that) and tried to find the darkest spot. Well he did. Right as he drove into an open rain grate. You know those giant scary rain grates in parking lots? Well someone had gotten the grate off it and threw a tv down in there. Now there was also the front half of my boyfriends truck stuck too. The back tires were a good 3ft off the ground, and we did everything we could to get that thing out of there. We jumped on the tailgate, until I thought I was going to pass out. Finally it comes time for me to be home. I had to walk to the gas station to call my dad. The Kanes was NO WHERE near where I was supposed to be. I. WAS. SCREWED. When my dad got there he pulled my boyfriends truck out and then the questions began....like what the hell were we doing back behind a store when we were supposed to be at the movies.....

That was pretty bad. Not the boyfriends fault but it was shitty.

DiscConnected said...

Everyone educate your sons...

If you pick up food at a counter and its on a plastic tray...not a date place.

A waiter or waitress is mandatory.

And if you really want to impress, find a place where the prices are only on the man's menu (not so common anymore, and they tend to be pricier establishments but it's a nice touch).

Had I known about this blogfest, I'd have been temped to tell the story of a recent first date where our entrees had just been served and the lady asked me where I saw things going.

Really? We'd known each other for a whole half hour and I had to decide the course of both our lives already!

Dating is for the young....


HowLynnTime said...

Awwe I am quite certian I have the best of all.

I met a married man and he was tall, with red hair and the tiniest burr hidden in a soft Oklahoma drawl. His face was cold and hard until I softened it with true love. I loved him so much I sent him back to his wife for the darling child he had brought into the world.
For seven years I ran wild and found dispair without him, I moved away that I would find no temptation to give in to that which would somehow bring him sorrow - to part him from his son. No, It would not be me.

Yet I watched, carrying a small hope that one day I could live again. It became harder to find out his activity as time passed and mutual friends faded. Still, I found covert avenues to hear his name spoken.

Finally, a chance encounter with a stranger brought me light in the darkness, for my love was finally free of his burdens by no fault of his own. I packed my bags and left for home. I arrived in the morning and it was chilly and brilliant and by that afternoon I would be in his arms forever.

I passed the time dreaming of joy, waiting to surprise him as he left work. I would beg him to forgive me for pretending I could live without him.

A thunk hit the front door of my childhood home and I thought I would read the paper as two more hours seemed like an eternity that moment.

On the back page was a small mention of the name I would finally be allowed to take.

While I stood on the road discovering his freedom in the rain and packing my bags to fly to him, he'd found sorrow to deep to survive. The shotgun mangled my beloved by his own hand. If he'd waited 24 hours, if I had only...

Seven days later, valentines day struck like a rolled up paper on a door to hell. I did not have a shotgun of my own. I became a writer instead. I know eternity friends. It's name is might have been. Deepest sorrow feeds it well.

Your turn.....

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